Grotesque

Demons Of Various Description

Ever since the caravan had reached the Unamur Mountains, the climate had become as irksome as the company I kept. Every day, a disgusting heat came with sunrise. Cool days were also rare in Dishare, therefore I hadn’t expected it would bother me when I set out on this journey. However, I soon learned that the mountainous stretch of the Cursed Road was plagued by a different kind of heat; dry and draining. The silken canopy of my palanquin could as well not have been there as the little shade it provided did nothing to alleviate the sensation of being burned alive. The mere act of breathing was akin to sucking sand into my lungs, and not even the Khirada river carried enough water to quench the thirst I felt every day.

At night, the Unamur Mountains wore a different mask, one of shivering cold and unnatural darkness. A strange fog encroached on the road and with it the campsites, and some nights I thought I heard distant voices howl in the chilling winds. Although I had prepared well for the journey, none of my many gowns and robes properly kept me warm. To make matters worse, my supply of firewood had long been depleted. The last logs had been burned in the foothills, and the vegetation along the road was too sparse to restock. I therefore had no choice but to join fellow travelers around their bonfires when night fell, as inappropriate as it was for a woman of my station.

The caravan consisted of close to two hundred people, yet none except for myself were of noble blood. Under any other circumstances, I would have found it beneath me to associate with commonborn traders and their mongrel guards. However, at the height of summer most caravans traveled along the banks of the Khirada. After scouring the markets of Dishare for weeks, I had only found a single group that prepared for the laborious journey to Mapure. Rather than waiting any longer, I seized the chance as the caravan would pass through my destination, Xyne. And so I found myself among strangers who gibbered in queer accents and foreign tongues; among slavering camels, smelly elephants, and stubborn mules.

Most nights, I chose to join Vibol by his fire. The old sandal maker was as lowborn as a free man could be, but I considered him one of the lesser evils. From him I had learned about the caravan to Mapure in the first place, and he had made a good impression during this conversation. For somebody with so humble roots he was fairly well-spoken, and he displayed appropriate respect toward those of high birth. Our initial meeting had deluded me into thinking that his company wouldn’t be all that unpleasant. Not only did Vibol strike me as polite, he also seemed knowledgeable about the route. He had traveled the Cursed Road many times before, he said, and was well-prepared for its dangers. When the caravan gathered for departure outside the eastern gates of Dishare, I found his wagon surrounded by a dozen armed guards which exceeded my expectations. However, Vibol’s company was not without drawbacks altogether. He was better prepared than I had thought – yet also more talkative.

At first, the chatter didn’t bother me much as a priestess, Ambura, and her guards were also drawn to Vibol’s fire. They spoke of the task that had led them out of Dishare, the conversion of a small coastal village where fishermen revered what Ambura called ‘false gods’. Although the subject didn’t particularly interest me, it at least kept Vibol engaged – something I came to value greatly after the caravan reached said village and the priestess left the party. Now Vibol was under the impression he had to regale me, and for a while his tales were indeed somewhat entertaining. After several weeks, however, I had grown weary of them as they all pertained to the same subject. I merely nodded along out of grudging politeness when he went on and on about the supposed dangers of the Cursed Road. In the end, listening to trite stories was still better than finding myself a different host for the night.

The closer we came to Xyne, the more fantastical Vibol’s claims became. A month away from the city, the Cursed Road’s worst danger had been the draining climate: the excessive heat at day, the sudden cold at night, travelers’ negligence to carry enough water or bring warmer clothes. Two weeks north of Xyne, specters and other apparitions had appeared in the tales. Creatures, half beast and half man, that tried to lure unsuspecting travelers into the desolate Unamur Mountains. Living corpses that roamed the fog on the wayside in search of flesh to devour. Ancient curses that may befall anyone who strayed too far off the road. Absurdities that at best frightened children – and bored me, a grown woman, to tears.

The day had been long and uneventful, and the fleeting, cool boon just at nightfall had already turned into an unpleasant chill. Although I dreaded yet another long-winded tale of apparitions and monsters, Vibol’s fire held an irresistible allure with its crackling warmth. “When will we reach Xyne?” I sank down onto the pillows my slaves had laid out with a resigned sigh. “It feels like several lifetimes have gone by since we crossed the river.”

Vibol barely looked up from the pile of leather straps in his lap. Weeks ago, I had mistaken the lowered gaze for a sign of respect. By now I knew he was merely lost in thought, pondering the next sandal he would make. “I truly hope you will reconsider, Lady Chanera,” he said, his tone a blend of concern and distraction. “Xyne does not take kindly to strangers. No matter what business you have in the city, it would be wise to meet with your contacts somewhere else.” He paused and held two straps together, then appraisingly regarded the shape he had formed. “Come with us to Mapure. You’ll find plentiful opportunities there. If need be, I can-”

“My business in Xyne does not concern you,” I interjected. “And please, spare me the warnings. I have slaves, guards, and coin. I do not intend to stray from the market districts. Xyne holds no more dangers to me than any other city. Just tell me for how long I’ll have to bear the maddening climate on the road before I get there.”

Now Vibol looked up from his materials and regarded me for a long, thoughtful moment. “Six days,” he said, uninflected, then took a deep breath. “You may not believe what I have seen, but please, do not take my warnings lightly, my lady. People disappear on this road, in this accursed city. One cannot be careful enough when going there. I’ve known too many who never came back from Xyne.”

I made no attempt at hiding my irritation when he began spinning his yarn. Tonight, a young tool peddler by the name of Zaval was the focal point of the story. “Very skilled, but just as reckless,” Vibol concluded a needlessly elaborate introduction of the man. “Had made a small fortune in Dishare with his newfangled chisels. Inspired by this recent success, he decided to expand his business to Xyne. Wouldn’t listen to any warnings – and there were many. Within weeks, Zaval threw all caution to the winds and set out on the Cursed Road with a small band of mercenaries.” Vibol let out a deep sigh and absently sifted through his leather straps. “Thought his silver tongue would get him out of any trouble, I reckon. It did not. Neither Zaval nor his companions were ever seen again.” He regarded me with the reprimanding eyes of a strict father. “This road is a beast in its own right, my lady, and lone travelers – no matter how shrewd or how rugged – are its prey.”

“Yes, yes, it is the most dangerous road in the world.” I pulled the black fur cloak tighter around my shoulders. An elegant, expensive piece, often admired by my peers in Dishare, yet woefully ineffective out here in the cold. “And yet I have not seen any of the dangers you describe. If specters and demons linger just out of sight by the roadside, they surely avoid being a bother. The flea-ridden camels at the caravan’s tail end strike me as the greatest nuisance on this journey.”

Our conversation continued a little while longer, but as so often in recent weeks, we went around in circles. When some of Vibol’s guards joined us by the fire, I decided to retreat into my pavilion as their arrival only meant more unfounded, absurd stories would be told.

Common people. They led such common, simple lives. Maybe this was the reason for their preoccupation with fictitious dangers: a lack of real problems to worry about. What did they do day in and day out, after all? They wandered from one place to the next to peddle their wares, with no concern for truly important affairs. Those of noble blood shaped the fate of the world. Perhaps the responsibilities that rested upon our shoulders were so far beyond the common imagination that men like Vibol just couldn’t understand, however hard they might try.

Wrapped up in layers of blankets, I still felt the night’s cold permeate the pavilion. Six days, I reminded myself. Another five nights, then I’d enjoy the amenities of a city again. Fresh food, not the chewy dried meat or the abominable root stew I had to endure on the road. A proper bed in a proper inn, with a proper fire crackling in a proper hearth. It would likely take a day or two longer until I would be reunited with my husband, however. First, I had to find him, then the potion had to take effect – if the witch hadn’t lied about it. But the possibility that she had was only a distant concern. My hand absently reached to the necklace with the vial, clutched it tightly as if I could imbue further strength into it. Of course it would work. I would not return home empty-handed.

Memories of Sanaar distracted me from the cold and the appalling stench that wafted through the camp every night. Sanaar, my beloved husband. He alone was my ‘business’ in Xyne. Only very few things could have lured me away from the comforts of home, but for him I would have traveled to the frozen shores of Nassudrall. I so vividly remembered the day we first met, even though it now lay three years in the past. During an auction of fine carpets and curtains, it had been his robes that first caught my eye. A flowing dream of shimmering lavender and bright azure, held by a wide belt of bleached leather with intricate, golden ornamentation. I had just made a remark about it to my mother when the well-dressed stranger turned around and looked directly at me. Never before had I seen such breathtaking beauty! Not even the greatest works of painters or sculptors came close. A shroud of jet black velvet framed his face; eyes like ember, features chiseled out of sun-kissed marble, a disarming smile that made my heart flutter in an instant. When our eyes met across the crowded auction hall, there was a tangible, unforgettable magic in the air. In that moment I knew he was the one I was meant to wed.

My parents’ stance on the matter differed at first, much to my irritation. A match between House Somkanai’s only daughter and Sanaar Dashuvi wasn’t proper, Father said, and that once my infatuation wore off I would see that. For generations, House Dashuvi had been little more than glorified merchants with a negligible claim to noble blood. Successful in the trade of fabrics and fine robes, yes, but they lacked influence, and their line had been stained and broken many times over. Even Sanaar’s mother was not of Dishari descent: her father had been an insignificant scholar from Nian. Considering such questionable ancestry, it was out of the question to let me wed a son of House Dashuvi.

However, my ‘infatuation’ didn’t wear off. Instead, my determination grew. I knew I was destined to be Sanaar’s wife, and my father’s stubborn resistance wouldn’t change that. He tried everything to deter me nonetheless. In the coming months, several suitable matches were presented to me, men of proper breeding who possessed the Bright Blood. I rejected them all. Father even tried to bribe me into changing my mind. He showered me with gifts and reminders that a man like Sanaar could not afford me the comforts I was used to. I took the gifts and told him that I didn’t care; Sanaar was the only comfort I truly wanted.

Finally, my dear brother Ivir took up arms for my cause. His wife had recently given birth to a healthy boy. Their first child – a proper heir to secure the future of House Somkanai. In the light of that, did it really matter if his sister wed a man of lower station? Father couldn’t possibly prefer to watch his daughter grow old and barren because she rejected all other suitors. Yes, Sanaar Dashuvi was barely a noble, but he was still a better match than no match at all. Mother, smitten with her new grandson and dearly wishing for another, reluctantly agreed with Ivir. Or perhaps she was merely tired of fighting. Cornered, my father finally gave in and arranged my betrothal to Sanaar.

We were wed only two months later. I couldn’t have been happier although his business often kept my new husband away from our manse. It also seemed as if my kin finally came around. Mother even took a liking to him – and the beautiful dresses he procured for her and me. Unfortunately, the dreamy life didn’t last. An insignificant ‘scandal’ lowered Sanaar’s standing in my father’s eyes once again. People claimed to have seen my husband philandering with Lady Bhana, the wife of Varron Iranar, in the market. The rumor sparked my father’s outrage long before he had even bothered to learn what had truly conspired that day. A mere misunderstanding, Sanaar explained when I asked about it. How did my father think sales were made? Everybody flattered wealthy customers in his line of work. Of course he had courted Lady Bhana – because she happened to have an especially fat purse.

Father wouldn’t listen to explanations, and my kin distanced themselves from us more and more. However, Sanaar’s success spoke a clear language. If flattering lies told to wealthy hags paid for my comforts, so be it, I thought. And I surely lacked nothing. Sanaar afforded me a good life and once again proved my father’s concerns about him to be wrong. He gave me the finest gowns and jewels, and bought slaves to tend to my every need. I simply had no reason to worry about his loyalty.

I do not believe Sanaar harbored ill intentions when he bought Kanda. In fact, he most certainly meant well and thought he was doing me a favor. I had complained about Kanda’s predecessor, a grumpy old house slave whose name I don’t recall, many times as she rarely did her work to my satisfaction. There was always a spot left unswept, always a little something wrong with the food she served, always a door that should have been closed standing open. I was delighted when Sanaar decided to replace her. He couldn’t have known what kind of bitch he was bringing into our home.

Kanda. Her previous owner had marked her as a common house slave, but I soon realized what kind of whore she truly was. She had her eyes on Sanaar since the day of her arrival, and in her youthful vanity she thought I wouldn’t see that. But I did. At first, it vaguely amused me, no more and no less than the attention other women showed to my husband. Sanaar was handsome and eloquent and knew how to flatter, therefore I was never surprised when his customers smiled, winked, or sent him gifts. Kanda, however, was different. First and foremost, she was obviously of low breeding. It struck me as impertinent that she thought her master would ever grace her with more than a fleeting glance. And second, she was more persistent with her advances than a proper noblewoman would have deigned to be.

It was the small things that made me resent her, the silent determination and unwavering tenacity of her futile pursuit. For instance, there was her cooking. She didn’t make the same mistakes as her predecessor, yet I couldn’t help but notice that she served Sanaar’s favorite dishes far more often than mine. If there was one thing I’d have changed about my husband, it would have been his palate. He favored blander, more mundane dishes that lacked the flavorful spices I so loved. Therefore, it was quite evident which of her masters Kanda tried to appease. I didn’t complain as it made Sanaar happy, but I certainly took note of the discrepancy of Kanda’s choices in the kitchen. Then there was the way she carried herself when he was around. Coquettish smiles, covert glances; even her posture changed to that of a whore who tried to lure men from the street into a dingy bedhouse. Whenever Sanaar was away on business – visits to suppliers in Hapura or villages on the banks of the Khirada – I became keenly aware of the change in Kanda’s demeanor. Suddenly she was demure and reserved, and the smiles that weren’t as subtle as she thought were entirely absent. Her replies to me were polite and taut, but they lacked the warmth that was present in her voice when she spoke to Sanaar. I would have let it all slide since she did her work well enough. However, after a while that audacious harlot went too far and I simply couldn’t turn a blind eye to her antics any longer.

I had been gone for a few days to attend my brother’s celebration in honor of his second child’s birth. Sanaar had explicitly not been invited, but although he was understandably affronted, he told me to go by myself. It was a chance to mend the strained relations with my kin, he said, therefore I reluctantly accepted Ivir’s invitation. Upon my return, I immediately noticed the change in Kanda. Her smile had grown even more conceited and prideful, as if she was hiding a dark secret behind her sweet facade. More than once, I caught Sanaar smiling back. Kanda’s attire had changed as well in my absence. Likely, she had altered it herself as she was quite skilled with needle and thread. While the plain dress was still the same style and color, it had become more revealing – no, outright whorish. Had she thought I wouldn’t notice that the neckline had miraculously dropped far enough to almost reveal her belly button? Apparently so! She acted as if nothing was different at all. I didn’t let on that my suspicion had been roused.

After a few days of this childish charade, I sent Kanda to the market with a long list of errands. Once she had left the manse, I went to her chambers and thoroughly turned them upside down. It didn’t take long until I found something that all but confirmed my suspicions: a flask, empty, hidden away under her pillow. It had to have been a love potion. I just knew. This brazen little whore had used it to seduce Sanaar in my absence!

I didn’t confront her. I put the flask back where I had found it, then bided my time. Several weeks after my discovery, Sanaar went to meet with a supplier of silk and other fine fabrics in Hapura. This was my chance and I seized it. I took Kanda to the market where I had arranged a meeting with Drozan Avash, a reputable slaver from Galamu. He gladly paid the outrageously low price I named and didn’t inquire about my reasons. Kanda would yield a good profit, he said, as brothels anywhere paid well for pretty, young things. I agreed that she’d be better off there as her talents clearly didn’t lie in the kitchen. To substantiate my claim, I purchased an unsightly, old Nianese who eagerly assured me she had a hand for spices before I went home.

To my irritation, Sanaar was angry with me when he returned from Hapura. It wasn’t my place to make decisions like this behind his back, he said. Kanda had cost a small fortune! Why hadn’t I even tried to haggle with Drozan for a better price? He was a reasonable man; surely he’d have made me a better offer! There had been nothing wrong with Kanda! If I didn’t like her food, I could simply have ordered her to cook something else! But no, instead I sold her for a laughable sum and brought home a toothless hag that barely spoke our tongue!

It was clear to me that Kanda’s spell still hadn’t worn off. Looking back, I don’t know why that surprised me at first. The flask had been fairly large, after all. That treacherous little whore must have poisoned my husband for weeks, fed him a new dose with each bland dish she served. Of course it would take time for the effects to fade. I had to be patient.

Sanaar barely spoke to me in the following days. He worked more than ever, likely to make up for the loss of coin we had suffered from Kanda’s sale. In retrospect, I felt terrible for not haggling with Drozan. My beloved husband was right. I could – should – have sold her for a higher price. She’d be gone either way. I couldn’t rectify the mistake, but I still told my Nianese woman to be frugal with the spices for a while.

Not in my wildest dreams could I have imagined the full extent of Kanda’s devious magic, yet it was what led me here. To the Cursed Road, bound for the sinister city of Xyne.

Shortly after the fateful day I sold the whore to Drozan, Sanaar left my Nianese woman a message for me. He had departed for Xyne in the early hours of morning to seek out new trade contracts. It was so obviously a lie! Never before had he mentioned such ambitions – yet he was well-aware that Drozan Avash frequently did business in Xyne, Mapure, and his native Ilam. It was the spell. It compelled Sanaar to go after Kanda!

Clearly, I had severely underestimated Kanda’s magical talents – or the length of her fingers. She tried to steal my husband from me. It stood to reason she had stolen her cursed potion from somebody else. There certainly hadn’t been a shortage of opportunities whenever she went to the market. I couldn’t let her get away with this. Sanaar was mine and mine alone. That seductive little bitch would never have him!

Of course, I couldn’t turn to my kin with this kind of calamity. Father would only have blamed Sanaar for these supposed indiscretions. Therefore I confided in my Nianese woman – and she turned out to have been a wise purchase once again. She concocted a potion, a potent brew imbued with the old magic of Nian. Sanaar’s blood made him especially receptive, she said. One sip and he’d never again look at another woman for as long as he lived, and no spell or potion could remedy that. All I now had to do was find him, free him from Kanda’s treacherous grasp, make him drink the milky liquid from the vial I wore on my necklace. And punish her. Punish that insidious, lowly whore for the audacity to put her filthy hands on what belonged to the Bright Blood of Dishare.

Matters Of Trade

Xyne had been of little interest to me before I set out on my journey, yet I had some knowledge of the city from hearsay. Long ago, it had been a center of trade, although it had never rivaled the cities of Qon in esteem, reach, or glory. In recent times, Xyne was all but irrelevant. The sinister reputation Vibol spoke of only played a small part in this. What was truly to blame for Xyne’s descent into obscurity was the expedient location on the western shore. While the city remained neutral in conflicts between its smaller neighbors, centuries of petty quarrels had left the region desolate, poor, and sparsely populated. Traders had little reason to make the laborious journey nowadays, and anyone who could afford it preferred the sea route to Ilam.

Xyne’s supposed saving grace were skilled artists. Supposed. Although I had grown up surrounded by my mother’s collection of priceless pieces, I couldn’t recall a single one she had purchased from Xyne, nor had one been among Sanaar’s gifts to me. Upon my arrival in the city I did not see anything to confirm the lofty claims either. The statues along streets and on plazas were made of mundane materials, trite depictions of historical figures nobody outside the walls of Xyne remembered. The painting in the room I had rented was almost painfully commonplace, a simple landscape in dull colors, evidently painted by somebody with no eye for composition. In the common room I had seen two tapestries that spoke to better taste, but both struck me as distinctively Nianese.

Due to the exertions that lay behind me, I had retired to my room early instead of accompanying the merchants to the market. Unlike them, I had no reason to replenish my supplies right away as I would not move on toward Mapure with them the next day. Instead, I followed the lure of the bed which turned out to be just as comfortable as promised – one of the few pleasant surprises on my journey. I knew Vibol intended to leave by first light. He loathed the thought of staying in Xyne any longer than needed, and the sun already stood high by the time I rose. There wouldn’t be any point in looking for him outside the gate, and so I stayed in the guesthouse to make myself presentable and finally eat a proper meal.

I didn’t have high hopes for the cuisine of Xyne, and they were not disappointed. A viscous, bland barley broth was served before skewers of goat meat; a meal nobody at home would have set before a woman of my station. Clearly, the caravan’s spice traders had not sold their stock here as both broth and meat lacked any discernible trace of flavor. Still, it was better than the terrible rations I had eaten on the road, therefore I refrained from complaining.

When I left the guesthouse to begin my search for hints regarding Sanaar’s whereabouts, I discovered something that soured my already fairly low opinion of Xyne even further: My palanquin was gone – and with it my slaves! The stable they had slept in was empty. Now I would have to walk like a peasant in those dirty streets! Thankfully, most of my belongings had been brought to my room in the evening, but that hardly excused such vile betrayal.

Appalled, I went back into the common room where the owner, a woman about my own age, was busy cleaning up behind her counter. She had been accommodating enough when I had rented the room after my arrival, so I was hoping she’d be of further aid.

“Went to gather eggs from the coop before sunrise,” she told me in her thick Xynesi accent. “Didn’t see nobody but chickens and goats in the yard.”

“Why didn’t you tell me my slaves ran off in the night?” I inquired without hiding my indignation. “Why didn’t you stop them?”

She shrugged and kept wiping the counter with her damp rag. “Didn’t know they were gone. This is an honest house. I do not touch my patrons’ possessions; never. As long as you pay for the stable, I do not look inside.”

I sighed in defeat. Discretion in all regards had been promised when I made the arrangements for my stay, and I could hardly hold it against her that she stood by her word. Furthermore, there was nothing I could do after the fact. The slaves had most likely joined the caravan and were hours away from Xyne by now. Even if my guards had stayed, sending them after the other runaways would have been futile. I’d be stuck in the city without a palanquin and anyone to carry me either way. For now, I resigned to the hollow satisfaction of knowing that escaped slaves never made it far. Once the caravan reached Mapure, it would be discovered that they were traveling without a master – unless one of the mongrel traders claimed them as his own. They’d either bow to a less distinguished master or carve out a miserable existence in the barren cliffs around Mapure. Whatever life awaited them at the end of this journey, it would be far less pleasant than the one they’d have had staying with me.

“Do you see many patrons from Dishare?” I asked after gathering my thoughts. The guesthouse was the first establishment of repute one came across after passing through the gates of Xyne. Perhaps Sanaar had stayed here as well – which would provide me with a first lead in my search.

“No,” the woman plainly gave back, then dropped her rag into a bowl of water and beckoned me to sit down. “Come, sit. I’ll pour you a drink, free of charge. Then you tell me who you’re looking to find.”

Taken aback by the offer, I obliged and seated myself on one of the stools at the counter. “How do you know I’m looking for anyone in particular?” I asked as I watched her grab a jug from a shelf.

I was too bewildered about my situation to take offense when she laughed. “Why else would you have come here, absent wagons or wares to peddle? I know a merchant when I see one and you don’t have that look.” She placed a mug in front of me and filled it with a honey-scented beverage of a light flaxen color. “People come to Xyne for one of two reasons. You’re not here to trade, so it must be the other.”

The beverage’s taste was more pleasant than its dull color suggested, and I nodded my appreciation after taking a sip. “My husband,” I admitted after some consideration. “He came here to trade in fine fabrics, but his long absence from home has me worried.” She didn’t need to know about the treacherous witch and her spell, but perhaps she could set me on the path to Sanaar – without revealing the embarrassing truth. After all, she seemed well-accustomed with merchants and their dealings in the city. If I asked the right questions, she’d at least point me in the right direction. “He also expressed an interest in procuring new slaves. The offerings on the Dishari markets have been poor in recent months, yet his business was steadily expanding and he needed well-trained helpers to keep up with the growing demand.”

“I see, I see. Fine fabrics and slaves.” She nodded and furrowed her brow in thought. “Neither is traded so close to the gates. Your husband would have gone to the bazaars in the heart of the city for this kind of business.”

Yes, if he was compelled to search for Kanda, he’d have followed the trail of the slavers indeed. “Then I shall begin my search for him there,” I said after drinking another sip from my mug. “Would you happen to know a reputable slaver I can turn to? Somebody my husband might have sought out?”

“Patrons rarely disclose their business to me,” she answered. “And I rarely venture to the inner districts myself. Most of my daily needs are met here, in the outskirts.” She offered a refill by lifting the jug, but I declined. “I’m afraid I can’t be of much assistance, other than providing directions. However, it won’t be difficult to discern people of note once you’re at the bazaar. Only the wealthiest have a hand in the slave trade, and they stand out at first glance.”

The long walk to the bazaar felt demeaning. Streets were made not for noble feet; they belonged to peasants, slaves, and beasts of burden. With each step I took on the bumpy cobblestone, my resentment for the runaways swelled. Was their capture unlikely? Yes. Did it stop me from dreaming up punishments, should those ungrateful mongrels somehow find their way back to me? No, it most certainly didn’t. However, when I reached the inner gates – which my host had described to me before my departure – more practical matters entered my mind. While I did not have the funds to replace the stolen palanquin and its carriers, I wasn’t entirely destitute either. Not having to pay for the stable anymore would also save me some coins in the coming days. A single slave, just to provide basic comforts during my stay, was certainly an affordable investment.

As luck would have it, I soon spotted a stage where a small crowd had gathered to inspect the slaves standing on it. It was hard to miss as the nearby stalls drew far less attention. A belt maker was playing a dice game with his guards in the shade of his display. Next to him, an elderly woman tended to her sole client, a father about to purchase one of her caged monkeys for his young son. Closer to the stage, a trio of swarthy men chattered idly among themselves behind their long tables filled with tapestries, curtains, and carpets – all of far inferior quality than those Sanaar sold.

The auction had apparently not begun when I arrived in front of the stage. This gave me the opportunity to listen in on the conversations of the prospective clients. Just as I had hoped, many were discussing the auction: how much each of the slaves presented might sell for, what they were willing to pay, at what amount they expected rivals to drop out of the bidding. Despite the Xynesi accent, I understood enough of what was said to estimate which of the slaves were affordable for my limited means.

The most costly were the four young women which was neither surprising nor a bother to me. I didn’t want them anyway although none of them were especially pretty. No, after the ordeal Kanda had already put me through I wouldn’t take the risk of inviting another envious bitch into my house. The next most desirable, at least to the Xynesi, were two young men; brothers by their looks, both strong and healthy. They’d have made fine carriers for a palanquin, I thought, but since I no longer possessed one, the pair was of little interest to me. This left me with a woman about my mother’s age and two men who were probably even older. Initially, the woman was my first choice out of the three. However, I overheard a couple whispering next to me, just before the auctioneer climbed the stairs to the stage. I gathered that they had intentions of buying the woman as they were discussing their need of a wetnurse. The men therefore struck me as the better, more affordable choice, and since I had no particular preference among them, I decided to purchase whichever would attract the lowest bids.

I ended up buying Erdem, a man who looked old enough to be my father’s father. He was not quite as ancient as his leathery skin suggested though; the rugged appearance was owed to many years at sea. The descendants of his previous – and recently deceased – owner had given up on fishing to pursue more lucrative ventures and therefore sold their father’s vessel along with the crew. I was pleased to learn when he disclosed his previous occupation. Not only had I paid a slightly smaller sum than I had allowed myself to spend for this purpose, my new slave also positively lacked an unsavory past. At home in Dishare, I would have inquired about charges of theft and similar offenses before making purchase. Considering my unfortunate situation and my limited funds, however, I had neglected such precautions in Xyne. That I had such luck with Erdem could only be a good portent for my search, and so I found myself in surprisingly high spirits.

“Excuse me!” I held up the auctioneer before he retreated into the tent behind his stage. “Would you be able to answer a few questions?”

The man paused and turned around to regard me with quizzical irritation. Only when his gaze grazed Erdem, a flash of recognition appeared on his face. “All sales are final,” he gave back. “You should have asked before making the bid.”

“Oh, no, I don’t have questions about him,” I hastily corrected the mistaken assumption. “I seek information about a fellow Dishari you may have met.”

“Doubt it.” The man gave me an uninterpretable look, but he took a few hesitant steps back toward the stage. “I don’t recall any caravans arriving in recent weeks. We rarely see visitors from such far away places.”

“My husband did not travel in a large party,” I explained when the man reached me. “He came here several weeks ago to trade in fabrics and-”

“People rarely stay long either,” the auctioneer cut me off. “If he came here several weeks ago, he likely left the city by now. Try your luck in Mapure. Most traders go there after concluding their business in Xyne.”

“No, I’m certain he didn’t,” I insisted. “My husband explicitly said he’d stay in Xyne and return home if his business here proved unfruitful. Perhaps you met him and simply did not recognize him as Dishari.” I went on to describe Sanaar, but the man barely listened. From the corner of his eye, he was watching his helpers lead the next group of slaves onto the stage. Only when I fell silent did he turn his attention back to me.

“Look, people come and go on the bazaar all day, every day,” he said with unveiled impatience. “I barely remember the customers I sold to this morning. Maybe I met the man you seek, but I don’t recall anyone of that description.” And with that, he turned on his heel and headed toward his tent.

“Is everyone in Xyne this abrasive?” I gasped. “At home, no merchant would dare speak like that to a highborn woman!”

“He’s a slave, my lady,” Erdem whispered behind my back. “He’s reluctant to speak because he fears the fate that would await him if he was caught dawdling.”

“A slave? But he bears no markings!” Just as I whirled around, I realized that this had been a silly statement. Outside of Dishare, most slaves were unmarked. It hadn’t occurred to me that it might be difficult to tell them apart from the freeborn in a foreign city. Surely, it wasn’t as easy as the guesthouse’s owner had made it sound. “I only arrived in Xyne one day ago,” I told Erdem once I had gathered myself. “I’m not yet accustomed to the quirks of this city.”

“Perhaps the man’s owner can help you,” Erdem suggested. “Foreigners cannot sell their wares on the bazaar without the Artisans’ permission. If your husband came here to trade, he’d have spoken to them.”

“Artisans?” I echoed, now fairly puzzled. “What do artisans have to do with the slave trade? There’s no craftsmanship involved in this kind of business.”

Erdem gave me the strangest of looks, then cleared his throat and answered my questions. “Some say they are living works of art, but they are not craftsmen in the strictest sense of the word, my lady. ‘Artisan’ is a title given to those who belong to the ruling class.” He paused and thought for a moment. “What one would call a ‘magister’ in your lands, I believe.”

“I see.” On one hand, it irked me to be lectured by a slave. On the other hand, I was grateful for the explanation. Sanaar would indeed have sought out these people either way. If he had tried to establish new trade contracts as his message had claimed, he’d have spoken to them about selling his wares in the city. If the spell compelled him to search for Kanda, he’d also have reason to see them. Drozan Avash was his only lead, and he too would deal with those Artisans if they controlled all trade in Xyne. “Where would I find these Artisans?” I inquired, ignoring my slight indignation. The auctioneer had long disappeared into his tent, and I thought it better not to disgruntle my sole source of information. “Where can I schedule a meeting? Do you know a name I can ask for?”

Erdem shook his head, his gaze regretfully lowered. “I do not know where to find them, my lady. The Artisans rarely grace public places with their magnificent presence.” However, his demeanor suggested that this was not all he had to say. He subtly glanced to the stage where a new crowd of prospective buyers was inspecting the new batch of slaves. “Wait for sunset,” he said, now more hushed. “A messenger will come to collect the day’s profits. I overheard his conversation with the auctioneer last night; reprimanding him, relaying instructions from the Most Exalted. Perhaps, for a small bribe, the messenger will arrange an audience for you.”

Maybe, I thought, it had been a blessing in disguise that my slaves had run away. Had they stayed, I would not have purchased Erdem, and he was surely more helpful than they would have been. Instead of demeaning myself by begging for scraps of information on the bazaar, I decided to do as Erdem had suggested. It was already late in the afternoon anyway. I wouldn’t have to wait too long for the messenger he had mentioned. To pass the time – and to reward Erdem for a promising start of his service – I bought him a wool cloak, a good blanket, and a spear. Initially, I had a dagger in mind as it was the appropriate choice of weapon for a guard. However, Erdem let on that he was more accustomed to spears as they were commonly used to hunt in the nearby river. I did not care either way. He’d be a fine guard regardless of weapon.

When night fell over the bazaar, the messenger came just as Erdem had said. A well-dressed man; he easily stood out among the merchants and patrons, although I couldn’t help but notice that each of his hands had more fingers than they should have had. The deformity apparently didn’t hinder the man in any way, nor did he make an effort to hide his unusual condition. In fact, I had the distinct impression that he was drawing attention to it. He gesticulated far more than the subject of our brief conversation called for, and each of his fourteen fingers boasted jeweled rings of silver and polished copper. In the end, his evident penchant for costly trinkets worked in my favor. For a handful of coins – frankly more than I liked to part with – the man promised to arrange a meeting with his employer for the next day.

More Than Human

When I arrived at the agreed upon place with Erdem, there was no doubt in my mind that I had been deceived. The cutthroat with his fourteen bejeweled fingers had taken my coins and then led me astray instead of arranging a meeting with his master. It was the only explanation. This couldn’t possibly be the right place! Although it was only noon, the streets were eerily quiet and deserted. Not even stray dogs or haggard beasts of burden roamed between the derelict buildings. None of the ramshackle huts and unremarkable stone houses looked inhabited to me, and if they were, they surely couldn’t belong to the wealthy elite of Xyne. I imagined the poor districts of Dishare to look like this; districts nobody of note would ever set foot in. Furthermore, this desolate part of the city was only a short walk away from the inn, far from the buzzing bazaars.

At first, I was simply aghast. I hadn’t thought myself as gullible as I evidently was. After wandering around between the shabby buildings for a while, my disbelief turned into anger – at myself, at the devious freak who had sent me here, at my situation. One day ago, I thought I had made a prudent investment, a crucial step forward in my search. Today, I stood in the middle of nowhere, short of coins and feeling like an utter fool. What would I do now? How would I find Sanaar? I couldn’t just go around and hand out coins at the bazaar in hopes of finding a more trustworthy contact!

Just when I was about to turn around and go back to the guest house, a surprised voice from the far side of the street held me back. “Lady Chanera?” It was the fourteen-fingered man who had called out. I spotted him outside one of the plain stone buildings, his robes a sole speck of color in these triste surroundings. “You arrived early,” he said when I came closer, and instead of airing my anger I paused, irritated at the puzzling greeting.

“Early?” I echoed. “You said the Artisan would receive me at noon.”

“It appears my messenger did not find you,” the man replied with an air of importance. “I sent him to inform you that your appointment was postponed due to urgent business. Naturally, the interests of the Most Radiant take precedence over an unannounced visitor from far away. I estimate it will be another hour before the Most Exalted can see you.” He looked around, then gestured to a rickety shack on the opposite side of the street. “If you wish, you can wait in the shade, of course.”

His demeanor was overtly dismissive; he made no attempt to hide that he attributed no importance to me. The offer to wait in a ruined shack I wouldn’t even house livestock in offended me further, but I reminded myself that I had to be polite. As unlikely as I found it, perhaps this was merely a misunderstanding. An unreliable errand boy could be to blame, or the man had forgotten to inform me about the delay and now put on airs to save face. I had little choice but to give him the benefit of the doubt if I didn’t want yesterday’s bribe to go to waste.

“Yes, thank you,” I said as politely and composed as I could muster. “The heat is quite oppressive in these empty streets. I’d welcome both shade and refreshments while I wait.”

“Of course, of course.” His smile was as sincere as my kindness. “I will have refreshments served right away. It is a relief that you are so understanding about this unfortunate situation. Please, accept my apologies for the inconveniences the lost message has caused.”

My first impression of the shack had been right. Uninhabited, unused, long abandoned. The roof, patched a hundred times over to no avail, provided some shade, but that was the only thing I could say in the shed’s favor. Holes in the brittle planks still allowed the dry heat to seep through the walls, the floor was no different from the dusty street, and furnishings were absent altogether. A servant had placed a tray with the promised refreshments on the sill of the boarded-up window, but it turned out that the jug contained only water – and it was not even cold.

“The audacity!” I muttered, not for the first time, as I impatiently paced up and down in this utterly inadequate shelter. “Is it any wonder that people shun Xyne? Nobody in Dishare would dare treat noble guests with such brazen disrespect!”

Erdem kept staring at the floor, but he nodded. Even the slaves are ashamed of the arrogance their masters display towards strangers, I thought to myself. He hadn’t said a word since we had entered the shack, except to ask if I wanted him to pour some of the water into a cup. I had declined as the stale smell alone turned my stomach.

“Had my husband known how difficult it would be to get permission to trade in this dreadful city, I’m sure he would have taken his business to Mapure or Khani instead,” I mused, although Erdem probably only pretended to listen to my ramblings. “He is a man of some importance, you know? Quite popular with the Bright Blood. Many Dishari nobles favor his fashions. He doesn’t have to put up with this kind of impudence.” My hand reached for the vial on my necklace. This cursed little whore and her unsavory magic. Why did I have to sell her to Drozan Avash of all slavers? I should have sold her to somebody who wasn’t known to trade with Xyne. Sanaar would have gone somewhere else then, and I wouldn’t have to put up with the Artisans’ impudence either.

I stopped at the window to peer out through the planks. It certainly felt as if I had been waiting for well over an hour already, but so far nothing at all had happened outside. The street lay as silent and deserted as before, and nobody had left the stone house on the opposite side of the shack either. I was about to resume my restless pacing when distant sounds from outside held me back.

Finally! There was movement! A group of hooded figures in robes of an unsightly dun color had walked out of the Artisan’s building. Servants, if the humble attire was anything to go by. I couldn’t see where they were going as they quickly turned around a corner, but it was clear that they were not coming for me. Still, somebody had exited the building. That was reason enough to think that I wouldn’t have to endure the stuffy heat of the shack for much longer.

“Look, a wagon is being brought to the street!” I whispered to Erdem in hopeful excitement. The wagon stood out in these dull surroundings. Shrill colors, elaborate decorations, two exquisite horses held by chains of silver and gold. “It appears the ‘urgent meeting’ is coming to an end, after all!”

He joined me by the window and peered through the cracks to confirm my observation. “Yes, it appears so, my lady,” he echoed, his voice tinted by a strange kind of reverence. “Where there are Aberrants, an Artisan is never far.”

“Aberrants?” I repeated. “What a queer term to describe servants…”

“Oh, they are not mere servants,” Erdem interjected. “They are freeborn and of noble birth. Aberrants are held in high esteem in Xyne. Being taken into an Artisan’s service is a great honor, one bestowed upon only a select few.”

“These people are highborn?” I shot Erdem an incredulous glance from the side. Except for the concealing attire, the hooded figures outside were indistinguishable from common slaves. There was nothing honorable or esteemed about preparing a wagon, however ornate, for their master’s departure. “Why would they stoop to doing slaves’ work? Why would they forego their position in favor of an unflattering title?”

“Unflattering?” Erdem looked at me with incomprehension. “My lady, their path leads to elevation. Loyalty and dedication can see them rise to the highest station. Not every Aberrant lives to enjoy the fruits of their labor, but the potential reward outweighs all risks. After many years of good service, they might claim the title of Artisan if they prove themselves worthy.”

“I see,” I said, although I still couldn’t fathom why anyone of noble blood would demean themselves in such ways. What I had learned about the Artisans so far just didn’t seem worth it. Maybe the title inspired awe in Xyne, but that hardly made up for residing in ramshackle ruins in the city’s shabby outskirts. What good did wealth and power do if one didn’t use either?

My thoughts were interrupted by further movement outside. Finally, the plain door of the stone house had opened again – and my eyes grew wide when I saw what came through it. The figure that stepped out and made its way toward the wagon baffled all descriptions. I couldn’t even tell whether I was looking at a man or a woman!

There was an inhuman elegance to the bizarre body; tall, slender, dressed in the finest robes of iridescent white silk. Pallid skin adorned with intricate patterns of colored ink, some extending to the bald skull and even the delicate features of their face. Gemstones in any color of the rainbow sparkled in the midday sun, as did bangles and necklaces of polished gold, long earrings with a variety of shimmering feathers, and thin belts and chains that formed some kind of ornate web around the torso. However, neither the proportions nor the style of attire gave me any indication of their gender, and appendages that shouldn’t have been where they were conjured up further confusion. My mind insisted that my eyes were lying, that it just couldn’t be. Yet the longer I stared, the more certain I was that I was not seeing scarves or stripes of fabric streaming from the shoulders. Four arms. This creature possessed four arms, two emerging from each shoulder.

Torn between morbid fascination and sheer horror, I kept staring through the cracks. “What in the world is that… thing?” I got out just when the bizarre figure approached the wagon.

“The Most Radiant.” Erdem’s voice was an awestruck whisper. “They look even more splendid than I dared to imagine…” His eyes were burning with urgency and admiration when he suddenly turned to me. “I caught a glimpse once, years ago. From the distance, of course, as slaves are forbidden from sullying the Artisans’ glory with their presence. The Most Radiant was grand then, but now… Now…” He took a deep breath to compose himself, to little avail. “Now they are so much more…”

“Have you lost your mind?” I tried to wake him from his alarming stupor. “That freak has four arms!”

“Impressive, isn’t it?” He eagerly nodded. “Xyne has not seen such splendor in a hundred of years, not since the Most Sublime graced the city!” He glared at me with the fervor of a priest who had just experienced his god’s final revelation. “Thank you, my lady! Thank you for buying me and taking me here! Only few slaves are ever so blessed to lay eyes upon such marvels!”

I stared at him in disbelief. In Dishare, ‘marvels’ like these would have seen the creature drowned in the Khirada river as a newborn, and it would have been considered a mercy. Such deformities led to a life of ridicule and suffering, both for the unfortunate child and its parents. How could this curse be considered a blessing here – and even elevate these monstrosities to the highest station?

An uneasy suspicion overcame me when I watched the ‘Aberrants’ assist their freakish master – or mistress – in climbing onto the wagon. “Are you trying to tell me that all Artisans are like this one?” I gave voice to it. “Will I be faced with such ‘marvels’ when I speak to the Most Exalted?”

Again, Erdem nodded. “Yes, my lady. Please forgive my envy.” He paused and once more tried to gather himself. “You see, many Xynesi nobles are born with abnormalities, some vastly more beautiful and distinguished than others. But the Artisans… The Artisans have mastered the art of shaping their flesh even further, bend nature itself to their very will. They are in constant flux as they transcend consistency and reinvent themselves anew as they wish. New shapes are a matter of fashion to them, a display of skill and insurmountable power. A defined form is beneath them. Nothing but a constraint for those less blessed than them.”

Did he not realize how utterly insane all of this sounded? Transcending consistency, imposing their will upon nature, self-inflicted mutilations they thought of as triumphs? Those were the ramblings of madmen; arrogant, delusional, and unhinged. Yet the Xynesi revered these abominations, even allowed them to rule the city and lord over those more sound of mind! If there were any, and I certainly had more than a fleeting doubt about that now.

“Well, at least I know what to expect now,” I said with as much composure as I could muster. It was hard to stifle my disgust, but if I wanted to find Sanaar, I had to keep up the facade of politeness. In this regard, the fourteen-fingered man had probably unwittingly done me a favor, whether it was a genuine misunderstanding or devious intention. Had he not made me wait, I would not have seen the bizarre creature – and the omission of that would have left me entirely unprepared for my meeting. “Can you provide any advice regarding the conduct I should display when speaking to the Most Exalted?”

“Apologies, my lady, I do not know such things.” Erdem’s gaze followed the wagon as it departed. It didn’t surprise me that it was traveling deeper into the deserted outskirts, away from the guest house, the markets, and the city gates. “As I said, slaves are not permitted to be in an Artisan’s presence,” Erdem added. “I never served anyone who had dealings with them.”

Across the street, I saw that the door of the stone house stood open and the fourteen-fingered man had come out. He was headed in our direction, therefore I presumed he’d finally take me to his abominable master. “Here.” I gave Erdem a handful of coins. “Make yourself useful while I speak to the Most Exalted. Go to the markets and purchase food and drink, and ask around when the next caravans are expected to pass through Xyne. It doesn’t matter where they are going. Dishare, Mapure, either is fine. Once I have the information I need, it won’t take long to find my husband. I don’t intend to stay in this wretched city any longer than I must.”

The Most Exalted received me in a room that stood in stark contrast to their own appearance. Plain walls of light grey stone. The absence of windows. A faint, sickly sweet scent in the air. Not a single piece of decor, unless one considered the simple rug just beyond the entrance as such. Except for the one I had entered through, this simple dwelling did not even have proper doors. Instead, tattered curtains hung in the archways, most so worn that I could see what lay behind them. The long walls of what my guide called the ‘reception hall’ were lined with wooden chairs bare of any comfort. They were occupied by what I assumed to be the Aberrants of my host, and there was no chair waiting for a guest.

Unlike those I had seen on the street, these Aberrants did not wear humble attire, therefore I wasn’t sure if they filled the same function at first. One was more extravagant than the next; a dazzling spectrum of colors, fine fabrics, and precious gemstones and metals. Robes that undeniably bore the hallmarks of Sanaar’s best work – the choice of colors, the combination of fabrics, the patterns and ornaments on sleeves, girdles, and collars. The realization gave me confidence that I had come to the right place, although it couldn’t distract me from the monsters all around me. I was alone among freaks here; the only one not malformed or disfigured. An interloper to their strange, hidden world. Yet I wouldn’t waver. I had come too close to let the horrific sights deter me.

For the sake of politeness, I tried not to stare, but I couldn’t stop myself from letting my eyes wander altogether. Nor from shuddering with disgust here and there. Each of the Aberrants, numbering a dozen, was grossly disfigured in some way. The fourteen-fingered man had been the lesser evil, I realized, as he was by far the least abnormal of them. One woman – at least I believed it was one – proudly displayed three bare breasts, golden chains connecting the rings in her nipples. Two seats to her left, a bald man without ears wheezed through what appeared to be gills on his neck. Across from him sat an emaciated figure – I couldn’t tell whether it was a man or a woman – whose hands were malformed. Instead of palms and fingers, there were bulbous, fleshy clods.

The worst sight, however, was doubtlessly the Most Exalted who sat enthroned straight ahead, atop a low dais. The pallid, morbidly obese body did not suit the long, narrow face. Even the skin seemed mismatched, as if somebody had attached the wrong head to their neck. I can only describe the Artisan’s features as ‘beautiful’, yet in the most unsettling way. An unnaturally slender nose. Eyes of translucent yellow, framed by long lashes of the deepest black. Cheekbones so sharp and defined that they looked like they had been chiseled from moonlit marble. Lips so thin they were barely there, yet seemed to smile. Thankfully, only the neck and the fleshy arms were exposed because I suspected the apparently deliberate pattern of outgrowths covered the entire massive body, and the thought alone was revolting. Warts with fingernails sprouting from them. May the gods forgive the description.

“It is highly unlikely that we had dealings with the man you seek.” Their voice didn’t give away whether the Most Exalted was a man or a woman, and it puzzled me more each time they spoke. “We very rarely engage in business with outsiders as we have no need for the inferior craftsmanship of foreign places. At most, we grant permission to peddle certain wares on our markets as the mundane have a taste for those things.” They scoffed with a blend of disdain and pity. “We don’t blame them. Those born mundane carry an unfortunate burden and know very little joy in life. If slaves and pets from distant places ease the mediocrity they are stricken with, we will not deny them those simple pleasures. However, we are not involved in those dealings ourselves. You might have better luck inquiring about your husband’s whereabouts somewhere else. If we were to guess, we’d say he most likely moved on to Mapure.”

He, she, it was evading my questions since I had explained why I had sought them out. Instead of providing any useful information, this detestable creature kept making the same claims I had heard – and dismissed – before.

“I am certain Mapure was of no interest to my husband,” I insisted, but didn’t get any further.

“Then he must have returned to Dishare,” the Most Exalted cut me off. “Perhaps he was attacked on the way. The Cursed Road bears many dangers, much to the detriment of our glorious city. Packs of hungry beasts roam the wayside. Bandits and brigands hide out in the caverns nearby. Some even speak of apparitions and demons; otherworldly forces that prey upon lone travelers at night.”

Was the Artisan mocking me? I had traveled the Cursed Road! I knew none of these claims held any truth. Why were they lying to me? Sanaar had been here and he had clearly sold his wares to this abomination, yet the Most Exalted denied having done business with him. Be polite, I reminded myself. Feigning respect was my best bet at getting the information I needed.

“Would you know about a man by the name of Drozan Avash then?” I therefore inquired, a forced smile on my lips. The slaver probably had a different contact in Xyne, somebody more accommodating to foreign merchants. If Sanaar had followed Drozan’s trail, he’d have negotiated for permission to trade with a different Artisan. Maybe the Most Exalted was even truthful about not being personally involved in those dealings, although I highly doubted they had no knowledge about it at all.

“We do not know this name.” The Most Exalted’s tone had changed. They had been haughty and dismissive before. Now the words seemed to erect an invisible wall right between us. “Truly, we are inconsolable, but we cannot help you any more than we already have. Valat!”

I cringed when the Artisan lifted their flabby arm to wave to the fourteen-fingered man. It looked like a mudslide had been set in motion, except the mud was pallid, callused flesh speckled with those sickening outgrowths.

“The Most Exalted must now prepare for the exhibition tonight.” Valat rose from his simple chair with a grand gesture. “An event of uttermost importance. The Most Auspicious will be presenting their latest work in the Hallowed Atelier.” He paused and sighed at my puzzled expression. “The splendid tower in the heart of the city. You must have seen it from the bazaar.”

I had indeed. A slender tower with ornate spiral stairs winding around on the outside, crowned by a bulbous golden spire. The thought of the Most Exalted dragging their enormous body up those delicate stairs would have made me laugh, hadn’t I been so taken aback by the sudden conclusion of this meeting.

“Regretfully, it appears you came the long way for nothing,” Valat continued, leaving no doubt in me that he enjoyed the sound of his own voice a little too much. “If you would please follow me now? The hallways of the atelier can be so confusing, and I would hate for you to get lost on your way to the door.”

I was still besides myself when I had almost reached the markets. These freaks apparently took me for a fool! Did they think I didn’t recognize that it was Sanaar’s work they sullied with their monstrous bodies? And they had to know Drozan. Of course they knew him! He frequently sold slaves in Xyne! They had to have heard of him at the very least if he required their permission, yet they refused to refer me to his contact. Out of sheer spite, most likely. I was not one of them. I was not horrifically disfigured. So they found me undeserving of their aid – or even the comforts of a simple chair!

When I reached the markets, I began looking for Erdem. Since my meeting with the fat abomination had been cut short so abruptly, he surely hadn’t had the time yet to make the purchases, therefore I expected to find him here. The longer I wandered around between the stalls, the more my anger turned into perplexity. I wouldn’t leave Xyne as soon as I had hoped, and I still wasn’t one step closer to finding my husband. But once I did, I knew exactly what I’d do first upon coming home. I would find the most infamous witch in all of Dishare and put a curse on that treacherous little whore Kanda. I had condemned her to a miserable life in a brothel, but she deserved so much worse for putting me – and Sanaar – through this ordeal!

The anticipation of delightful revenge fed my determination and made me forget about my aching feet. Yes, I would have my vindication, no matter what it would take. I’d wish it all upon Kanda – every affliction under the sun! And once at it, perhaps I should curse this awful city as well. It would surely be costly, but right now I felt it would be coins well spent.

Lost in thought, my gaze drifted to the horizon where the so-called Hallowed Atelier rose from the heart of Xyne. The sight gave me pause as an idea took shape in my mind. The Artisans would gather in this tower tonight. That meant they wouldn’t be in their dwellings. Their records, however, would be. Past purchases, lists of merchants with permission to trade in the city. Just the kind of information I needed to find a more forthcoming contact…

Inhuman

“Please, my lady, reconsider!” Erdem hovered between me and the door with a pleading expression. “Isn’t it possible that the Most Exalted told you the truth? Perhaps your husband never came to Xyne and-”

“He must have been here,” I cut him off while closing the clasps of my night-black fur cloak. “These freaks were dressed in Sanaar’s robes. I’d recognize his work anywhere. His fashions are one of a kind. I know what I saw.”

“He could have sold his stock to somebody else,” Erdem suggested. “Maybe he came across a caravan on the Cursed Road, and after learning how difficult it would be to obtain permission to trade on the bazaars…”

“My husband is an experienced salesman,” I interjected. “He wouldn’t be so gullible to sell his finest work to strangers on the roadside.”

For a moment, I was tempted to explain why I was so certain that Sanaar had sought out the contact of Drozan Avash, why I had to follow the trail of the slaver – and the slave girl Sanaar believed him to have. However, I decided against it. After the bizarre display of admiration for the disfigured freaks, I had lost my faith in the value of Erdem’s counsel. In fact, unbeknownst to him, I had already struck a deal with the guesthouse owner. She’d grant me – and Sanaar, once I had found him – free lodging until the next caravan departed for Dishare or Mapure. In turn, my ownership of Erdem would be transferred to her at the end of my stay. A bargain for both sides. I’d get rid of a slave I didn’t want to take home, she’d acquire a seasoned fisherman for an affordable price.

“Maybe he did not part with his wares of his own volition,” Erdem said. “The Cursed Road bears many dangers. The disappearance of small parties is not all that uncommon.” He gestured to his spear in the room’s corner. “You said he traveled without guards, did you not? There could have been an attack. A robbery! The Most Exalted won’t have any knowledge of that!”

“The entire grotesquerie was wearing my husband’s robes. Surely, there’ll be records of such a large purchase. If the Artisan bought Sanaar’s wares from somebody else, the ledgers will say so.” I pulled up the fur-lined hood and took a few steps toward Erdem. “I’ll know who last saw my husband. Maybe it was the Most Exalted, maybe another merchant, maybe a bandit. Either way, I will know where to continue my search.”

When I approached, Erdem stepped aside and lowered his gaze. “Apologies, my lady. I’ll gladly accept any punishment you see fit, but I can’t and won’t join you in this folly.”

“You won’t have to disobey me,” I gave back with a scoff. “Unless you take offense with guarding my possessions in my absence.”

Although the dark, empty streets made me uneasy, I knew leaving Erdem in the guesthouse had been the right choice. He’d only have slowed me down with his hesitation. Or worse yet, kept trying to debate the merit of my plan. I had told him about my observations in the Artisan’s dwelling, but nothing I said convinced him that his concerns were unfounded. Any point I made was only met with yet another ‘but what if’.

Even though the Most Exalted had received an important, highly esteemed guest just before me, I had seen neither guards nor servants anywhere in the house. There were only the Aberrants – and they’d be attending the ‘exhibition’ with their freakish master. But what if I was mistaken? What if not all of them would accompany the Artisan to the heart of the city? What if one of them returned early?

It would be impossible not to notice their presence in such a small building, nor would it be difficult to conceal my own. When Valat had escorted me back to the street, I had not seen any locked rooms in the building. In fact, I had not even seen any doors except for the one leading outside – and that one did not have a lock either. Inside, only curtains hung in the archways, many so tattered and worn that they had become translucent. It would be easy to slip around a corner and hide in the darkness, should I not find myself alone in the house. But what if the ledgers were kept in a more secure location? What if they were not in the small chamber just outside the hall where the Most Exalted had received me?

Where else would the Artisan keep their records? What I had seen resembled a study or solar; a small chamber with a desk and several shelves lining the walls. I was certain that I had glimpsed every room that branched off from the main hallway, and this was the only one with a discernible purpose. Others were barely furnished at all. At best they contained simple beds, likely quarters where the Aberrants slept. But what if I got lost in the maze? What if the Most Exalted themselves discovered me because I couldn’t find my way out before they returned from the exhibition?

An absurd concern. Laughable, even. I had left the guest house just after sunset, and the Artisan’s dwelling was not far from there. Their important event would keep the freaks busy for at least a few hours – after which they’d still have to make their way back from the ‘Hallowed Atelier’ to the outskirts. The heart of the city was more than just a short walk away. I knew that from my excursion to the bazaar. Even in a carriage pulled by strong horses it would take the fat freak quite a while to reach the tower, and even longer to ascend the winding stairs.

I wasn’t worried and I had no reason to be. Everything went according to plan. The streets were deserted at this hour. I had chosen the black cloak to blend into the darkness, but it turned out to be an unnecessary precaution. Except for a few scattered workers who cleaned pens in the marketplace, I did not encounter a soul on my way to the outskirts.

When I turned into the street where I knew the Artisan’s dwelling to be I reminded myself to be more cautious. It took more effort here to remain hidden from sight as there were no stalls or statues to hide behind. A lone phantom would be easily noticed here, therefore I stayed close to the ramshackle buildings and scurried from corner to corner. Any of the shacks could belong to a more agile abomination, and I didn’t want to risk being seen if they or their Aberrants stepped out onto the street.

Once I had reached my destination, I entered the ruin where Valat had made me wait before and observed the Most Exalted’s hideout for a while. Only when I was certain that nobody was inside did I finally put my plan into action. Although I hadn’t foreseen any complications, I was still surprised by just how easy it was to enter the plain stone house. As I had expected, the sole door was unbarred and barely made a noise when I opened it to slip inside.

The entrance hall was dimly lit by small lanterns, one of which I borrowed to illuminate the darkness in the hallways beyond. It wasn’t difficult to remember the way to what I thought of as the study. Straight ahead, turn left, turn left again, then along the long wall that had only two archways. The larger one led to the hall where the Most Exalted had received me. The smaller one to the right concealed the study with a flimsy curtain. The way felt longer than I recalled, but I attributed it to the eerie silence and minding my steps. Earlier that day, I had to listen to Valat’s conceited chatter, and didn’t have to pay attention to where I was treading. Now I had to find the way by myself in the dark and be careful as to not trip or leave traces of my presence.

Entering the study, I realized the chamber was larger than it had looked through the curtain. The row of tall shelves did not mark the far wall. Instead, it served as a divider that separated the desk area I had seen from some sort of storage compartment. I could see stacked crates through the gap between the shelves, but for the moment that was of no interest to me. The desk would hold the information I had come to find, so I began my search there.

The sickly sweet scent that lingered in the building’s halls was stronger here. The Artisan’s perfume, I presumed. That a wide, sturdy bench replaced a common chair further confirmed to me that this room was where the Artisan conducted their business. It took some effort to move the heavy thing enough to gain access to the desk’s drawers, and it made more noise than I would have liked. Even though I was probably the only soul in this part of the city, I felt compelled to be quiet on my secret mission. The drawers opened more silently, but their contents were one disappointment after another. Ink jars, quills, stumps of candles, empty sheets of crumpled parchment, scattered coins from various cities – yet no sign of a ledger. Growing impatient, I opened the drawers on the other side of the desk, only to find two of them empty, and more worthless plunder in the third. Rusty knives and a bent spoon, a broken seal stamp, the sad remains of a roll of wax that had melted and hardened again in the form of a crusted puddle.

Furiously, I pushed the drawers shut and sank down on the wooden bench to contemplate my frustration. I couldn’t have come here for nothing! Those records had to be somewhere! The Artisans were controlling all sorts of trade in Xyne. They just had to have written agreements and contracts! Calm yourself, Chanera. Think. Where would a merchant keep such things if not in their desk? I looked around in the dimly lit chamber. As any other room in this ramshackle building, it was barely furnished. Right now, I considered the dreariness a strange blessing as there were not many places I’d have to search. The shelves behind me. I had never heard of a merchant who kept their archives in wooden crates, but the Most Exalted wasn’t anything like the people I normally dealt with either.

Armed with my borrowed lantern, I inspected the crates, and shelf by shelf, my hopes faded. Yarn in various colors. Needles in all shapes and sizes. Broken cutlery; knife blades without handles and forks with missing prongs. More quills and ink jars. Why in the world did the Artisan store this much ink if they didn’t keep any records in writing? Leather scraps and strips of linen; something a tailor would have thrown out as the pieces were too small to be useful. A whole crate of dye jars, some of which were broken and had spilled their powdery contents to the floor underneath. Several crates worth of candles that had suffered a similar fate to the seal wax in the drawer. I found everything under the sun, except the one thing I had come to find.

None of this made any sense! The longer I rummaged through the shelves, the more I suspected this study was merely a mockup. Nothing suggested that this place belonged to somebody who possessed any wealth or influence in the city. Maybe it was all an elaborate facade in the end. Perhaps the entire decrepit district was a charade to deter thieves! This would explain why the only door was unlocked, why it had been so easy to sneak into the building. Nobody would suspect riches worth stealing in these ruins, and a cursory inspection of the interior would confirm that impression.

The longer I thought about it, the sillier I felt. It was so obvious now! Why hadn’t I drawn this conclusion any sooner? I should have known during the audience with the Most Exalted, yet in my anger I had fallen for the trick. Now I stood here and was struck by the same frustration a common thief would have felt upon realizing that the spoils were not where I had expected them to be. Unlike a common thief, I did not have the luxury of turning around and trying my luck elsewhere. Goods and coins could be found in the store of any old merchant. Records that gave away Sanaar’s whereabouts were a much rarer commodity – and they had to be somewhere here, in this very house.

The only place in the study I hadn’t searched yet lay behind the tall shelves. I had already seen more crates there, but my view was restricted by the darkness. It stood to reason that most thieves would have given up after finding nothing of value in the desk, so perhaps the Artisan stored the records in the back of the room. Close by for convenience, yet hidden in almost plain sight. The gap between the shelves was wide enough for the Most Exalted – which told me they sometimes did move their abnormally fat body there – and I held my lantern high when I stepped through.

Crates upon crates, stacked up to the ceiling. I didn’t have to go closer to see that they were filled with more useless contents. Candle wax and ink spills stained the wood, and all sorts of broken trinkets lay scattered around. However, I still couldn’t see the entirety of the room as it extended farther than expected to my left and, more interestingly, the floor slightly sloped downward in this direction. Curiously, I advanced into the darkness, always careful not to trip, until I reached the far wall and found myself faced with a tall, wooden door.

Once again, I felt silly for not thinking of it sooner. An underground vault! Of course! Valuables would not be stored in the open, regardless how unattractive the exterior of the house looked to thieves. I tried the handle, and this time I was genuinely surprised when the door budged. Perhaps the Artisan, in their boundless arrogance, assumed nobody would find the entrance to their archives in the first place – or locks were simply not fashionable among the elite of Xyne.

Behind the door lay a hallway with several doors branching off on the opposite wall. The sweet stench, not unlike rotting flowers, was pungent down here, so much so that I had to cover my face with a sleeve. Unlike the chambers above ground, the subterranean part of the Artisan’s dwelling was fairly well illuminated. Larger lanterns compensated for the lack of windows, therefore it took a moment until my eyes had adjusted to the sudden brightness. I pricked my ears and listened intently, and since I heard neither steps nor other movement down here, I felt it was safe to continue my search.

All doors I could see looked alike and gave no indication what purpose the rooms might serve, but a gut feeling told me the second one was the best choice. That’s where the real study is hidden, an inner voice whispered, but it turned out to be wrong.

Although I found a large room with a table in its center, it didn’t look like trade agreements were negotiated here. There were no lanterns inside, but the incident light from the hallway was enough to see that this was a store room of an especially untidy painter. Half-assembled frames – some plain, others with ornate carvings – leaned against the walls, the table was scattered with scribbled parchment and sketches, and several easels held unfinished paintings.

Curiosity got the better of me. Since my arrival in Xyne, I had only seen works of art that bore the hallmarks of other places. Ghevuri tapestries, Nianese carpets, Tievan statues and fountains in the streets. I could not even say with certainty that the bland landscape in my rented room had been painted by a Xynesi artist. It wouldn’t hurt to satisfy my curiosity, would it? Just a quick glimpse to see what the city was supposedly famed for…

The door falling shut behind me startled me and conjured up sudden concerns in my mind. What if somebody was elsewhere in the cellar? They’d certainly have heard the noise and would investigate it! Should I extinguish my lantern or hold on to my only light source? I don’t know for how long I just stood there and tried to make the most prudent decision, but when I woke from my stupor, I realized that I still didn’t hear any sounds from outside. Relieved that I was evidently truly alone in the building, I breathed out and resumed my way toward the nearest easel. A choice I immediately regretted once I cast light onto the painting.

What a horrific thing the artist had depicted! Never in my life – or even in my dreams – had I seen such a terrible creature! It resembled neither man nor beast, but the painting captured an odd, unsettling sense of aliveness. A slithering mass of flesh and skin, slavering maws sprouting from all over its malformed, pink body, and the eyes! Oh, the eyes! A hundred glassy, lifelike eyes stared at me from the canvas and into my soul.

Appalled by the disgusting sight, I stumbled backwards and almost lost hold of my lantern in the process. Was this what the Xynesi thought of as beauty? Would they call this hideous thing a true work of art? Shaken from my discovery, I turned around just so I would not see the abominable painting any longer. As I gathered myself, my eyes fell upon a piece of parchment that stood out as it lay right in the light cone of my lantern. It too showed nightmarish creatures, albeit they were almost human in shape. The first one had one head, a torso, and two legs, but this was where the resemblance ended. It did have two arms as well, but they did not belong to the adult man the ink sketch depicted. They were too small, too short, too puffy. The arms of a small child, no older than three. The other figure depicted a naked woman. At least the head and torso were clearly female. Below the belly, however, were no legs. Instead, the tail of an enormous fish, perhaps an eel or a lamprey, was attached to the body. Next to the figures, the scribbled lines read that the finished piece would be delivered to a certain Halesh Amut; below an outrageous price was noted. People were willing to pay money for these atrocious paintings? Why would anyone want to look at these ghastly creatures all day?

What was that? Had there been a noise from the hallway, after all? I didn’t hear anything when I listened closely, but that didn’t diminish the sinking feeling in my stomach that something was wrong, very wrong. Panicked, I looked around for a hideout, a nook or at least some piece of furniture large enough to conceal me, should somebody enter. I saw nothing of the sort, but there was a curtain in the far corner that I hadn’t noticed before. The noise – if I had really heard something in the first place – certainly hadn’t come from this direction, so I scurried toward the curtain as quickly as the situation allowed.

The adjacent room was shrouded in darkness as well, but it felt more oppressive than the other. When I held up the lantern to survey my surroundings, I realized that it was also larger in size. The walls were crowded with shelves and strange contraptions, none of which immediately disclosed their function to me. Treading lightly and quietly, I began to inspect the room’s contents, but instead of gaining some semblance of understanding where I was, my findings only puzzled me further. Skulls and bones of various beasts looked at least somewhat familiar, yet nothing else did. Odd masks without eye holes, harnesses made of iron and leather, jars filled with strange liquids and tufts of hair. On a long work bench, I found an unfathomable assortment of knives, needles, and saw blades; many of them in the most peculiar shapes. Next to it stood a shelf filled with helmets, but not one of them looked like it would fit a man’s head. Some were so small that they seemed to be fashioned for young children, others were too narrow or absurdly elongated. Most of the helmets also had holes in queer places. Not damage from battle, no. It looked like the holes had been cut there on purpose, although I couldn’t begin to guess what purpose that might be.

The farther I advanced into the room, the more I became aware of a subtle stench in the stale air. Sickly sweet and far from pleasant. Perfume on rotting meat to cover up the scent of decay. I know I should have turned around at this point, but I didn’t. Whatever mad curiosity possessed me, I just had to know the Artisan’s terrible secret.

I made my way across the room, to a long table on the far wall. The source of the stench had to be here, I was certain, as the odor became more pungent with each step. An array of large crates or boxes awaited me, hidden underneath thick, stained rags. I had to set my lantern down before pulling them away, so I could wipe my watering eyes and cover my mouth and nose with one hand, but nothing could have prepared me for the vile stench I released. The crates weren’t crates. They were metal cages. Not the kind chickens were kept in on the markets. No, these were much sturdier and reinforced with additional bars – and their contents left me utterly aghast. Each cage contained some sort of cadaver. Dogs? Cats? Piglets? Large rats? I couldn’t tell. Some were missing limbs, others had far too many. The one just beneath the lantern lacked both eyes and snout. The skin, grey and leathery, had been sewn together and stretched toward what I assumed to be ears – the only indication that this was the malformed thing’s head.

Horrified, I stumbled away from the table of horrors, leaving the lantern on top of the cage. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t turn my eyes from the abominable sight either. What was going on in this nightmarish dungeon? Did those disgusting creatures serve as inspiration for the terrible paintings I had found in the store room? Did the Most Exalted practice their ‘art’ on these beasts before turning blade and needle against their own pallid flesh?

A sudden noise startled me, no, chilled me to the bone. This time I was certain that I had heard something – and that it originated in this very room. Panicked, I whirled around to see where the moan, growling and distorted, had come from. Who knew what monstrosity lurked in the darkness? If only I could grab one of those blades from the workbench! Yet without the lantern, I couldn’t hope to reach them without risking injury to myself. Without thinking, I leaped forward and seized the lantern from the cage, but froze again as soon as I held it in my hands. The groaning sounded once more, then a thud and the rattling of metal. Whatever makes these noises is in a cage. The realization made me laugh out loud as relief surged through my body. It can’t get to me. I’ll escape this nightmare unscathed!

Records and ledgers were far from my mind by now. I only wanted to get out of this cabinet of terror. I gathered all the courage I had left, lifted the lantern, and looked around, hoping to locate a door that would lead back to the hallway. Past the table with the caged cadavers, I spotted a nook that contained neither shelves nor any bizarre contraptions, and since the wall had to border the hallway, I went there. The door had to be just around the corner.

It was not. There was no door at all in the nook. There was only a large iron cage that my lantern now dramatically illuminated. And to my horror, I recognized what was in it. Almost human in shape. One head, a torso, two legs. The arms of a small child, no older than three. A shroud of jet black, once velvet hair; now tousled and strawy. Eyes like ember, gleaming with madness in the lantern’s light. Stitches and wounds on chiseled, sun-kissed marble features. Chapped and swollen lips that no longer smiled.

“Sanaar?” I gasped, disgusted by the horrific sight. “Is that really you?”

He glared at me with utter incomprehension, but leaned his forehead against the bars of the cage. Was there a spark of recognition in his eyes? Did he merely react to the sudden brightness?

“It is me! Chanera! Your wife!” I tried again as I fumbled to remove the vial from my necklace. “Don’t you recognize me? I will get you out of that cage and take you home to Dishare. I have a potion to break Kanda’s spell! We will find a healer and-”

He lifted his gaze, looked directly into my eyes. “Bhana?” he muttered, his voice raspy and broken. “Bhana, my love…”

I recoiled at his words. Bhana?! Lady Bhana Iranar? How was this possible? It was Kanda who had fed him the potion! Why would he call the wife of Varron Iranar his ‘love’ if it wasn’t her spell?

“Bhana, don’t leave…” Sanaar croaked as he tried to stretch his short, puffy arms through the bars of the cage. “We can be together now… Your husband and my wife, they will never find us… Stay with me, my love!”

The vial shattered into a thousand pieces when I furiously smashed it to the floor. “You were wrong,” I hissed with unveiled disgust. “I did find you. And for all I care, you can rot in this cage! My father was right. You were never worthy of the Bright Blood of Dishare. I should have…”

In my fury, I only noticed the heavy steps when they had almost reached the hidden nook, and I was far too angry and confused to be frightened. Only when the Most Exalted’s enormous shape came into view did fear overtake any other emotion.

“Valat. Prepare the atelier.” The translucent eyes sparkled with anticipation, the thin lips formed an eager smile. My heart stopped. “Fate saw it fit to bestow a marvelous canvas on us tonight.”